"What about the expedition?"

"No word. You might still lead it, you know."

Except that we don't have any sophisticated prosthetics. So you could stay in the Minerva we send over, and watch while other men and women do the exploring. Maybe Cadmann would like to lead it now? How would you like that, Terry? Maybe we'll wait until I've had the baby, and I have my figure back. Then Cadmann and I can go over there together. What would you think of that, Terry?

Not too fucking much.

"Just problems. Manpower. We only have one totally free Minerva. If we need both Minervas somewhere else, the camp is without power. There just isn't going to be any exploration if the satellites and the telescope aboard Geographic can do the job," Sylvia continued.

"I suppose that makes sense."

Sylvia tried to identify her husband's voice in that comment. Like everything else in the camp, he had changed.

For a time she just listened to his breathing in the dark. Then she leaned forward to kiss her husband, kiss the father of her unborn child. His mouth tasted of sleep, but not unpleasantly. He pulled away from her embrace a few inches. "Sylvia—what news is there of Cadmann?"

"Mucking Great Mountain, halfway up."

She felt him nod in the dark. "Go up there," he said finally. "Talk to him. He's got to come back."

He strained with his arms to bring his hips closer to her, and even in the darkness she could see that tears glistened on his cheeks.

"Terry... why?"

He ran his hands down her body to the gentle swell of her stomach.

"Because of this. We're going to have a child soon, and this planet will be hers."

"Hers," Sylvia whispered.

"I can't protect her. Cadmann can help make this island safe. I helped drive him away. I think you can bring him back."

She didn't say anything, just kissed him again, remembering a line from somewhere. That which does not kill us makes us stronger.

Who had said that? Kipling? Nietzsche? She decided Kipling and resolved to look it up in the morning.

"One thing, Sylvia." His voice took on a wholly different quality. "I've talked to Jerry. There are going to be... things that I'll never be able to do again. You... you might not have any more children by me unless we AI."

She cradled his head, afraid that she already knew what he was about to say. "Shhh."

"No," he whispered. "Let me finish. I don't want you creeping out behind my back, feeling guilty. Sooner or later you're going to do it. The instincts run too damned strong here. We came to make the children that will rule this world." There was a definite catch in his voice. "All right. Do what you have to. And know that I understand. Just—not with Cadmann, please. I know that it's ridiculous. I just ask you that much. Please."

She held him tightly, as if afraid that with those words he might have said all that he needed to say, done all that he needed to do, and that life might slip away from him there in the darkness.

And as they held each other, for the first time since they had landed she realized how very much she loved him, and how much he loved her.

Sylvia's stomach jolted as the Skeeter hit an air pocket. She lurched to the side—the seat belt she shared with Mary Ann squashed them together. The Skeeters were built for two, but would seat three if the three were friendly enough.

Mary Ann stared straight ahead, as if a studied stare would part the clouds that shrouded the plateau. The tension between them was so thick you could cut shingles out of it, and on a very deep level Sylvia wished that she or Mary Ann had stayed behind.

But it was inarguable that Mary Ann and pilot Carlos were two of the closest friends that Cadmann had. Carlos was also a fine pilot, if a little nervous on landings. Lord knows Bobbi Kanagawa had spent enough time coaching him. At least Sylvia assumed that was what they were doing together...

Carlos brought the Skeeter around in a circle, following the satellite-relayed coordinates. A pterodon cruised by, not so scared by the Skeeters as the beasts had been a year ago.

You get used to anything, Sylvia thought. Carlos's brow was creased with concentration. He grinned crookedly. "Well, senoritas, el muchacho was not looking for a meal, eh?"

The creature fluttered around them again, peering, poking, but staying carefully clear of the rotors.

"Eh!" Carlos yelled, dark face angry. "Apartese un poco, queso de bola!"

Sylvia grinned at him. "You must have practiced that. That's the most Spanish I've ever heard out of you at one gulp."

"One gasp. Gulps go in. Gasps come out. When a gulp comes out, it's time for the mop. What I said in my musical native tongue was an important, sensitive, poetic statement."

Mary Ann spoke for the first time since the Skeeter had taken off. "I don't speak much Spanish," she said meekly. "But didn't you say something about moving a fat behind?"

"Ah, senorita—it is not what you say, it's how you say it."

"There it is," Mary Ann said suddenly.

The fog had thinned, and they were coming in on a mesa about half a mile across. There was tough avalonia grass up here, and Sylvia was surprised at the thickness of the underbrush. Thorn plants, of course, but other varieties too. Shrubs and flowering plants abounded. A squarish tent had been erected, and next to it a husky German shepherd leaped and barked.

Cadmann emerged from the tent. He was still a tiny, indistinct figure, but even from this distance Sylvia could see that he was walking unsteadily.

Carlos brought the Skeeter down.

They were forty meters from Cadmann's camp, and Sylvia had to admire his choice of locales. The mist was thinner up here, and there was much more vegetation than on the lowlands. Nearby was a tumbling stream of snow melt. It was clear that Cadmann was well provided for.

He could build here. Happily. There's water and food, and there may be game too. He wouldn't overlook that. If there's game anywhere, Cadmann would find it.

"Well," Carlos said, breathing a sigh of relief. "At least he left his rifle in the tent."

"Note the puppy, please."

Mary Ann didn't say anything. Her breathing had turned ragged.

"This is Carlos to Civic Center. We've reached the encampment. Cadmann appears unhurt, and any further reports will follow shortly." Carlos grinned at them. "Let's go." He unbuckled and hopped out.

Cadmann watched them for a long moment, then sat down in front of his campfire. He stirred at a pot and ignored them. A week's worth of beard shaded his face. He moved stiffly—the cracked ribs, Sylvia reminded herself. She wondered if he would let her inspect the damage or take a blood test to check infection, or even take his temperature.

There was something in his expression—something wild and uncomfortably strong, and her stomach went sweet-and-sour.

"Cadmann," Carlos said, his dark hand outstretched.

Cadmann looked at the hand and removed a flask from his pocket, taking a deep pull.

Carlos's hand hung there in the air like half of a suspension bridge awaiting completion. Finally he humphed and put his hand back in his pocket.

"What the hell do you want?" Cadmann said at last. The entire campsite was unkempt. The Cadmann she had come to know would never have been so sloppy.

"Just wanted to make sure that you were all right, amigo," Carlos said uncomfortably. "You were hurt pretty bad."

Cadmann glared at them, took another pull and then dropped the flask to the side.

The eyes, the unsteadiness. He was drunk, roaring drunk, and had probably been drunk since he came here. "Yeah. Hurt bad. I guess you must care about that. Your conscience acting up? Hell with it."

"Cadmann..." Mary Ann began, moving forward. One flash from those bloodshot eyes, and she stopped.

"Keep away from me," he growled. "All of you. Not one of you came up and put your ass on the line when it would have made a difference. Stew in it."